Page 38 of The Romance Adventure
She goes still and tilts her head in question. “You’re aware that almost every year storms damage resorts, buildings, and homes, yet repairs are made, power is restored, and people return.”
I kick one of the giant chessmen that was part of a checkers-chess set we’d put on the lawn every weekend. “Magnus would crush me. I’d beat Ryan and he’d win against CJ.”
“I’m not sure what to make of you, Mr. McMuffin, calling a resort home but wanting to burn it to the ground.”
“Not home. No, home is—”
“I thought it’s where the heart is.”
I laugh darkly.
“Oh, right. In that case, you’d need to have a heart.”
“Ouch. That was harsh.” I press my hand to my chest.
“You were the one who let out the maniacal supervillain laugh. Just reading the room.”
My lips quirk.
We’re closer to the main building than I’d like to be, but the real danger zone is the villa where my brothers and I lived. Chip called it the Lost Boys Cabin, like from Captain Hook. He had no idea how lost I felt. Still do, at least here...and with Strawberry Shortcake.
I’m not sure what to make of her. Something about her natural look—hair bleached by the sun, tan like she’s not overly concerned about loading on skin products and fussing with makeup, and the paint around her nails tells me she’s not like the women I’m used to.
My breath catches when the sunshine glints in her eyes. She said something, but I didn’t hear. Maybe I’m the one who needs to listen.
“Come on, let’s go exploring. Show me around. This is going to be fun.” She bounces a little and then links her arm in mine.
Never mind time slowing. At this sustained touch, it stops all around me—the wind doesn’t blow the palm fronds, the waves don’t shush on the shore, and the sun hangs suspended in the sky. Yet inside, I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. Eighteen again, feeling those seminal first moments anew—bubbles and fizz and excitement.
But I can’t let myself go there. “No, there’s nothing to see. A developer has reached out several times. They want to turn it into a modern resort property with all the bells and whistles—boutiques and water slides.”
Strawberry Shortcake drops her arm from mine. “But you were just saying this was a classic family resort with the bells but not the whistles. Like how things used to be. Granted, I never visited one, but I can imagine it from summer movies and beach reads.”
I shake my head, trying to loosen any notion of moving forward with Chip’s plan.
“I bet Glandfellow—”
“Gerome Glandman?”
“Yeah, I bet he’s been wanting to get his hot little hands on this place.”
“His hands are small...probably clammy, slimy.”
She wrinkles her nose and then says, “Yours aren’t. They’re not little either. Or hot.”
“How would you know about my hands?” I ask, belatedly realizing the answer.
“Because Mr. McMuffin, for some reason, we were like two ships passing in the night, er, colliding the last couple of days.”
“You know what happens to ships that collide, right?”
“Bad analogy. But look, here we are after the smoothie slip-up and the coolant debacle.”
“You named our encounters?”
“Sure did, Mr. McMuffin, and if I’m not mistaken, you call a certain Miss Pratt, yours truly, Strawberry Shortcake. Is that because the smoothie had strawberries in it?”
“And because you’re short.”
